She breathed out a few times, then lifted, and the instant she had his full weight in her arms, she Bounded, not to the hall, but to the drawing room itself. There was a moment when her sense of the room’s essence distended, the presence of a dozen people distorting it, and then she was there and looking about for a place to lay her burden down.
“Captain Fletcher!” Bess exclaimed. “Daphne—”
“He is not dead, I felt him move, but—oh, he needs treatment, he will bleed to death if nothing is done, Bess, I cannot—” Daphne backed away and turned to lean against the nearest wall, resting her forehead on her arms and closing her eyes.
“I have Spoken to Government House and they will send an Extraordinary Shaper immediately,” Bess said. “Daphne, were you injured?”
“No.” Weariness struck her. “Where is Lieutenant Wright?”
“Still not here. Captain Ainsworth will not wake. Oh, Daphne, this is a disaster!”
“I will go.”
“No, Daphne, you have already done so much. I have Spoken to Lieutenant Wright and he knows he is to return here.”
“Suppose he, too, lies near-fatally wounded somewhere? I must search for him.” Daphne stood and caught sight of Fletcher, lying so still and white on the sofa. Two of the Residence’s native servants knelt near him, one pressing a large wad of cloth against the terrible wound in his side, the other bathing his face. The cloth obscured the blood enough that Daphne felt no dizziness in looking at him, just a horrible aching pain in her heart and shame at her weakness flooding her limbs. “Speak with me if the lieutenant returns before I do.”
She could not make herself run from the room to the courtyard, she was so weary. This was much less laborious than Skipping with Fletcher the day before—had it truly only been one day?—but felt worse because of the terrible fears burdening her. Skipping low to the ground, she quartered the bazaar. The rioters had dispersed, leaving nothing but destruction behind. Some of those picking through the remnants of the stalls might have been rioters themselves, caught up in the furor and coming to themselves too late to make a difference. Daphne had never seen a riot before, had certainly never been caught up in one before, and found it was not the sort of adventure she had had in mind for herself.
After a time, she descended to earth and walked through the paths that passed for streets in the bazaar, hoping a closer look might bring her success. Her memory of Fletcher’s body lying shrouded in canvas propelled her forward. How strange, that remembering all that blood did not cause her vision to cloud over the way its actual presence did. It should have cheered her, the idea that perhaps she might someday overcome her weakness, but the missing lieutenant dominated her thoughts and made it impossible for her to feel optimistic about anything.
She thought about asking the few people remaining in the bazaar if they had seen Wright, but their dull-eyed stares and uncomprehending faces dissuaded her. No one accosted her. Her friend, the elderly toothless woman, had vanished. Daphne hoped her wares had not been destroyed or stolen. She poked around the fallen stalls, hoping to find Wright, praying she would not find him in the state Fletcher had been in. Nothing.
Finally, despair filling her, she Skipped once more, high in the sky, and let herself fall, relishing the feeling of being light as air, then Bounding back to the Residence before she struck the ground at a fatal rate of speed. No one knew why momentum did not transfer through a Bound or a Skip, and Daphne had never cared enough to experiment. Her cousin Sophia would likely have made it her life’s mission to discover the truth, had she been a Bounder rather than a Seer.
The drawing room was too crowded for an easy Bound, so Daphne went to the hall instead. The door to the drawing room was ajar, and smatterings of speech drifted through the gap, too quiet and fragmented for Daphne to comprehend their meaning. She stood still in the middle of the hall and let weariness drag her down, pulling on her arms and shoulders and bowing her neck. Her eyes, dry now, stared at the floor. The cobalt tiles did not shine, but were pitted with age and the ravages of the climate. A line of ants followed the groove between two of the tiles, marching from nowhere to nowhere. She envied the ants, who at least had some direction.
She ought to enter the drawing room, learn Fletcher’s condition, but if he had died… that would be two deaths to her credit, two completely undeserving deaths. She could not even blame her weakness; she had simply failed to observe what was right before her, left him lying in a pool of his own blood while she walked past. Now the tears came, but she did not know whether she wept for him or, indulgently, for herself. She wanted nothing more than to sleep, and wake to find Ainsworth and Fletcher well and Wright miraculously reappeared… no, that was too much to hope for, even for her famous optimism.
The door opened more widely, and a Hindoo servant exited, bearing a metal bowl full of pink-tinged water. Daphne’s vision started to swim, but she closed her eyes and firmly told herself, It is nothing, just red water, you will not faint! and the dizziness subsided. The servant bowed, no more than a low dip of the head that made the water barely wobble. “The sahibs are well, memsahib, very well,” he said, crossing the hall to the courtyard and beyond.
Daphne faintly heard the slosh and splash of water being tossed outside, but the pounding of her heart overrode it. Both well? She took several measured steps toward the drawing room and opened the door fully.
Someone stood just beyond it, blocking her view of the room. She realized it was Major Schofeld just as he half-turned to see who had entered. “Lady Daphne!” he exclaimed. “You should not have exhausted yourself so. I was about to leave to search for you.”
“I am quite well, Major, you need not trouble yourself.” His presence annoyed her—Government House could not have found another Bounder?—but that annoyance, perversely, cheered her as well, gave her something to feel that was not abject despair. “Did you bring an Extraordinary Shaper?”
“From London, actually. Dr. Feligson has been most obliging.” Schofeld stepped aside and took Daphne by the hand, drawing her into the room. It was fuller of people than it had when she had brought Fletcher back. Bess stood beside one of the windows, her head tilted back. Captain Ainsworth was sitting upright on one of the sofas, submitting to having his head bathed by a couple of Hindoo servants. And Fletcher—
Daphne realized she was holding her breath and let it out before the grey mist could claim her again. Fletcher lay unmoving on the sofa, his eyes closed and his face ashen beneath his tan. His bloody shirt was cut open, exposing his chest. A lanky man wearing the black hat of an Extraordinary Shaper knelt beside him, his hand spread palm-down on Fletcher’s chest, which was unmarked by wound or blood. As Daphne watched, Fletcher’s eyes fluttered open and he raised one hand to cover the Shaper’s. Daphne gasped. Instantly Fletcher’s eyes flicked toward her. A slow smile touched his lips, so warm and intimate that the tears started flowing again. He would not look at her that way if he knew how she had nearly failed him. She could not bear it if he did.
She resolutely looked away from him and crossed the room to where Bess stood. “I could not find Lieutenant Wright,” she murmured. “Please tell me he has returned.”
Bess lowered her head and opened her eyes. “He has not. Daphne, do not cry. He will return, or someone will… will bring him to us.”
“You mean, bring his body. I have failed him.”
“It is hardly your fault that he was caught up in the riot. You have done so much, Daphne. Captain Fletcher would be dead now if not for you.”
She still could not bring herself to look at him. “Despite my failings, you mean. I walked past him—I did not even see him the first time, and he—”
“Stop that immediately,” Bess said sharply. “If you insist on holding yourself to a standard of perfection the rest of us cannot meet, I will never speak to you again. Your talent saved our lives. Be grateful for that, and leave off blaming yourself for what you cannot help.”
“I—”
“
Be grateful, Daphne.”
Daphne closed her lips on another objection. “Very well,” she said, tucking her private shame away, “what more can I do?”
Bess laughed. “Daphne, you have without a doubt the most overdeveloped sense of duty of anyone I have ever met! Do you not believe that perhaps you have earned some rest?”
“I am not tired.”
Bess took a more careful look at her. “Daphne, you are shaking. I believe you should sit down.”
“I am not—” Daphne’s knees trembled, and she caught herself on the windowsill. “I should sit down,” she concluded.
“Are you in need?” said the Shaper, looking up from where he was tending to Fletcher.
“I imagine I just need to rest.” Daphne’s stomach growled, making Bess laugh again. “And eat, it seems.”
“You have exerted yourself more than enough for one day,” Fletcher said. His voice was as strong as ever, though his skin still had an ashen tint to it. “I owe you my life.”
“I did not—that is, please do not be grateful, it makes me feel so uncomfortable, like having a weight pressing down on me, though it is not as if I resent having—oh, please, may we speak of something else?”
“Very well,” said Fletcher. “What can you tell me of the riot?”
“You expect Lady Daphne to give you information, after what she has been through?” Schofeld exclaimed. “I might have known it would be your only concern, Fletcher.”
“If Captain Fletcher respects my intelligence enough to ask such a thing, I hardly imagine you are entitled to object,” Daphne shot back. “I appreciate your concern, Major, but pray, do not try to protect me from myself.”
Schofeld’s face went ruddy with suppressed indignation. Daphne heard Bess make an indelicate sound of amusement. “I would prefer you not discuss serious matters, Captain,” said the Shaper. “You have lost a great deal of blood and endured a serious Healing, and you need rest and food, not in that order.”
“You rob me entirely of conversational gambits,” Fletcher said. “Perhaps it would be better if I retired.” He moved as if to stand, but shook so badly he could only fall back onto the cushions.
“No walking for a day,” the Shaper said. “You will not be capable of it, at any rate.”
“Then how am I to achieve my bed?” Fletcher asked, arching one eyebrow with a sardonic air.
“I would be happy to convey you,” Schofeld said.
Daphne managed not to make a dismayed sound. “You do not know the essence of the captain’s room,” she objected.
“Neither do you—or at least I assume you do not know anything so improper,” Schofeld replied. Daphne had no answer for that. She caught Fletcher looking at her, his expression unreadable, but she could guess what he was thinking: he had no recourse to prevent Schofeld touching him, and could not in decency request that Daphne convey him.
“I will be just a moment,” Schofeld said, “if one of you Hindoos will direct me to Fletcher’s room.”
The two servants remaining exchanged glances, and one of them bowed and left the room. Schofeld followed him. Daphne wished she dared ask Fletcher what she should do. If Schofeld decided to torment Fletcher, just after he had been Healed, how much would that worsen his condition? Surely even Schofeld could not be so cruel. But Fletcher was looking at the Shaper, who was speaking to him in a low voice, and she could not think of a way to justify interrupting that conversation.
The door opened again. “Ah, Lady Daphne, I did not realize you had returned,” Sir Rodney said. “You deserve praise for your efforts today. I had no idea the extent of your talent—my dear, are you quite well? You look very pale. Pray tell me you have not overexerted yourself.”
Daphne’s stomach rumbled again. “I am very hungry, Sir Rodney. Is there anything to eat?”
“I have just been having a word with the cook. Apparently food is the sovereign remedy, or so Dr. Feligson there tells me! But you should away to your bed, and I will have a tray sent up. No, no, it’s no use arguing with me, the doctor will support me in this.”
“But Lieutenant Wright—he is still—”
“There is nothing more you can do for him, Daphne,” Bess said, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Go to bed.”
“I will go as soon as Captain Fletcher and Captain Ainsworth are settled,” Daphne said.
“Oh, I am quite well, just a bump really,” Ainsworth said, “but I’m just as happy for a rest. Don’t worry, Lady Daphne, Wright is a tough nut and no mistake. I’m sure he will arrive soon.”
With a faint whoosh, Schofeld appeared in the center of the room. “If you’re ready, Fletcher, I’m prepared to convey you directly to your room,” he said. Daphne watched him closely, but there was no malice in his expression, nothing sinister at all. Fletcher, for his part, looked perfectly calm.
“My thanks, Schofeld” was all he said before the major scooped him up off the sofa and vanished with a pop. Daphne clenched her fists tight against the impulse to run to Fletcher’s room and assure herself of his safety. Everything would be well. Fletcher was alive, and her weakness had not cost any of them their lives.
“I will go now,” she said, “but please do send food soon,” and she Bounded to her bedchamber. It was almost more than she could handle in her weakened condition; had Bess been in the room, it might have been impossible. She lay on her bed without removing her Bounder uniform, though she would no doubt be more comfortable in her shift. Undressing felt too much like work.
A few minutes later, Bess appeared, carrying a tray from which emanated the most delicious smells. “Sir Rodney apologizes, but this is all that was immediately ready, and Dr. Feligson told him you needed to eat right away, no waiting on ‘proper’ food. I had not the heart to tell him you would likely prefer this.” She set the tray on the bed beside Daphne, who inhaled deeply the aromas of saffron and ginger rising off the pile of rice and the bowl of thick orange stew. A stack of rotis, steaming hot, lay beside the plate.
Daphne snatched a roti up and began scooping stew into her mouth far more quickly than was good table manners. “Oh,” she moaned through a mouthful of food, “I wish I could eat like this every day, it is so delicious.”
“You have positively gone native,” Bess teased, taking a seat on her own bed opposite. “Try not to choke, I do not believe an Extraordinary Shaper can do anything about that.”
Daphne nodded, but slowed her intake only a little. Two rotis and half the bowl later, she said, “I feel so much less ravenous now, and more rational. Of course it is not my fault Lieutenant Wright disappeared.”
“See? You can be sensible. And you saved four lives today, five if you count your own. I believe Government House can hardly object to having sent you here.”
Daphne’s cheeks reddened. “I did not do it to be thanked.”
“No, but you should permit people to be grateful, Daphne, it creates the most terrible spiritual imbalance if you do not.”
“Is that a Hindoo philosophy, Bess?”
“No, it is all my own thinking. But I will not burden you with my gratitude, if you do not wish it.”
“Thank you.” Daphne went back to eating, more slowly now. “I hope Captain Fletcher is well.”
“He very nearly was not. Dr. Feligson performed a miracle. He is lucky to be abed for just one day.”
Daphne tried not to remember how pale he had been, how still. “I am so glad.”
Bess said nothing. Daphne glanced at her and said, “You are not going to tease me again, are you? Because I hardly believe this is the time.”
“No teasing. I simply saw how he looked at you. Daphne—”
“You are teasing me!”
“How, teasing, when I believe he is falling in love with you?”
Daphne busied herself with her rice. “Then I will have to dissuade him.”
“You do not know the captain as I do. He is not the sort of man who changes his mind easily.” Bess stood and took the bowl away from Daph
ne, forcing her to look at her. “Daphne—”
“I will not tell you I have—that I do not feel an attraction. But it would mean giving up everything I dreamed of doing, to permit myself to fall in love!”
“Are you certain of that?”
“Of course I am. What husband would permit his wife to Bound all over creation, exploring new countries and having adventures while he stayed quietly at home?”
“The right kind of husband?”
“No kind I have ever encountered.” Daphne set the tray on the floor. “I almost regret agreeing to this assignment.”
“You do not.”
“I did say ‘almost.’” Daphne removed her uniform and put on a fresh shift, then lay back down on her bed, kicking the netting out of the way. “I feel I could sleep for a thousand years.”
“You will sleep for two hours, at which point you will be hungry again,” Bess said. Daphne, already most of the way toward sleep, waved a languid hand at her friend, then drifted off entirely.
In which the investigation is stalled
aphne woke to hands shaking her. “Daphne. Daphne! Lieutenant Wright has returned!”
In her sleep-fogged state, she could not at first remember who Lieutenant Wright was or what he might have returned from. Then she gripped Bess’s hands and blinked up at her friend. “Returned, or been returned?”
“He walked in not two minutes ago. He received a blow to the head that left him unconscious for a long time, but a Hindoo dragged him to safety and watched over him until he woke. Sir Rodney expressed his gratitude to the man on all our behalf, but he would not stay to be thanked.” Bess sank onto the edge of Daphne’s bed and clasped her hands together. “The lieutenant seems perfectly recovered, though I believe his head still aches, because he is unusually quiet.”
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